


Something Just Right

by LeannieBananie



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Drinking & Talking, F/M, Friendship, Implied/Referenced Sexual Harassment, Sexual Harassment, Unrequited Love, Wine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-17
Updated: 2017-12-17
Packaged: 2019-02-16 03:59:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13046037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeannieBananie/pseuds/LeannieBananie
Summary: “You are amazing Sandor.” She must have seen the doubt in his eyes, the uncertainty and disbelief because she leaned forward and caught one of his big hands in hers. “You are. I wish you could see yourself the way I do.” Her words were fierce, eyes blazing with something that had nothing to do with the half empty bottle of wine next to her. It was reflexive, the way his hand immediately covered his scarred cheek, fingers tracing every familiar ridge and pucker of the ravaged skin.





	Something Just Right

**Author's Note:**

> Because why would I work on my WIPs.
> 
> Kudos and comments motive writers, so leave 'em if you liked it. Also holler if you see any mistakes because I didn't really go through this too closely.
> 
> *Inspired by "Little Red Wine" by Tyler Braden*

The annoying bird-like chirp of Sandor’s phone made him glance up from his carburetor manual and swipe at the screen with a scowl. Sansa had thought it funny to change her text notification on his phone because he always called her “Little Bird” and he hadn’t had the heart to change it back. 

**Little Bird: Hey do you want grapefruit Kolsch or that dunkel from the other weekend?**

**Sandor: It’s Tuesday.**

**Little Bird: Do not judge me.**

**Little Bird: Grapefruit it is.**

Sansa stood in the liquor store, juggling her purse, her phone, and a basket of clanking bottles as she waited for her reply. The telltale dots appeared that let her know he was responding and she grinned when his messaged finally appeared. 

**Sandor: Make it the blood orange. And get some of that pineapple cider you like so damn much.**

**Little Bird: Okay! :D See you in 10.**

She quickly grabbed the rest of her purchases and left the store, shoving everything into her trunk and shedding her jacket and heels before slipping into the driver’s seat. She could feel the start of a headache throbbing at her temples and the tension of the day rode high on her shoulders, making her back and neck ache. It was only Tuesday, but it had been a particularly hellish day, which was saying something considering almost every day at Baelish Fashion Inc., a high-end designer on Silk Street was akin to purgatory. 

She had been incredibly lucky to get a job just over a year ago as a paid apprentice, but between the owner, Petyr Baelish’s wandering eyes and inappropriate sleazy advances and the catty attitudes of her fellow employees she was starting to wonder if she really was “lucky.” It made her wonder if she had she gotten the job on merit or because of something else? 

By the time she reached the apartment she shared with Sandor Sansa was feeling even more glum, but she tried to push it away as she maneuvered the five flights of stairs in stilettos and a pencil skirt, arms full of booze. When she reached their apartment door she sacrificed the toe of her heels to kick at the door, slumping against the door frame to keep from dropping her bags as she waited for Sandor to answer. 

“Saaandor!” She called, kicking the door again just as it was yanked open to the glowering face of her roommate. 

“Seven hells girl, did you forget your key?” He grumbled, easily scooping up the heavy bottles and marching back inside, leaving her to follow with a grin. 

“No, it was in my bag and I didn’t want to have to set anything down to fish it out. Besides, I knew you were home.” Sansa dumped her purse on the floor and toed off her heels by the coffee table, sighing when her feet hit the plush rug in their living room. 

“Use and abuse me.” He muttered as he puttered in the kitchen, his massively broad shoulders claiming the space as he put his beer in the fridge and pulled out a wine glass for her. 

“It was in your lease, so you knew what you were getting yourself in to!” She teased as she moved towards her bedroom, impish grin on her lips as she laughed at him over her shoulder. He ignored her ribbing and merely scowled, raising her empty glass in question. “Dornish please! I’m going to change.” 

Sandor watched her vanish in a flash of copper hair and well curved backside, swallowing tightly and mentally chastising himself for his wayward thoughts, schooling his heart into a normal beat. 

“Let it fucking go Clegane.” 

The words were sour in his mouth, bitter and frustrating, just like this entire fucking situation. They were roommates and friends, but he cared for her more deeply than that and had for almost two years. She didn’t return his affections though, so he buried it under every taciturn layer he had, stubbornly pretending the dull ache in his chest wasn’t there, ignoring every sharp stab when she went on a date or did something that made him fall a little more in love with her. 

Bronn had been telling him that he needed to grow some stones ever since he had moved in, but Sandor just growled and snapped and told the lech to mind his own damn business. Not that it helped, Bronn would just cackle and bring it up again the next day. 

Movement from the hall caught his eye and he glanced up to see her walk back into the living room, big fuzzy wool socks on her feet and those short shorts she wore that drove him mad to see the full length her long legs -not even the panda pattern could curb his lust- and an oversized holey Kings Landing University sweater on. Ripping his eyes away he roughly yanked the cork out of her wine and poured a modest amount into the glass, sliding it across the island to where she leaned against the counter. 

“Ugh, Sandor. What is that.” She whined, pushing the glass back with a frown. He arched his good eyebrow, smirking as he poured until she held up a hand, glass mostly full. 

“Long day?” 

“Don’t judge! So rude.” She teased again, watching him putter around the kitchen, popping the top of his own beer and pulling out a box of crackers and some hummus. “And yes,” She paused, dipping a cracker into the dip. “It was that long of a day. I don’t know how much longer I can put with up with Baelish.” She shuddered delicately, taking a drink of her wine. 

“What he did he do this time?” Sandor was well acquainted with Petyr Baelish and the harassment of the female staff under his employ, he had been listening to Sansa complain for over a year and every time he firmly told her she needed to quit. 

“He just hovers, _all of the time_. He’s not actually doing anything though and I feel so stupid, but he’s always in my space, talking right in my ear and it makes my skin crawl. I spent the entire day avoiding him, not getting any work done, and then I got reprimanded by Ros. I ate my lunch in the bathroom.” She admitted quietly, face rosy with embarrassment, prepared to hear Sandor’s gruff voice chastising her for not standing up for herself again. 

Which was why she surprised when he reached across the island and took her free hand in his big one and squeezed gently. His voice was still raspy and firm, but there was a softness to it that eased her anxiety. It washed over her and made tears prick at the back of her eyes, the stress of the day swept away by the steadfast support that was Sandor. Her foolish heart let out a hopeful lurch, a traitorous thump at the crumbs of affection he offered, and she sharply reminded the unruly organ that he did not mean it _that way_. 

Unfortunately. 

“Sansa, you are not stupid, you knock that shit off right now. It’s not for you to feel bad about being uncomfortable in your place of work. He is purposefully making you feel this way and has been for years. It’s harassment and you shouldn’t have to put up with it and if you want me to rough the fucker up I will.” He took a long swig of beer, looking vaguely embarrassed, cheeks suspiciously pink under the thick bulk of his beard. 

“But I still think you should quit.” He continued roughly, and she hid a smile behind her wine glass. There he was; grumpy, coarse, blunt and so very dear to her. Their unorthodox friendship was more important to her than anything in this world, so she willingly ignored the parts of her that wanted more from him. She refused to jeopardize what they did have, and Sansa knew that if she did ask for more, it would only serve to push him away. 

“Sandor, we’re not talking about that tonight!” She grabbed her glass and the bottle and headed out to the living room, flopping on the couch and reaching for the remote. 

“Oh, so I can’t give you advice on your career, but you can tell me what to do with mine?” Sandor watched her ass until she sank behind the couch, before grabbing his beer and following, grousing at her as she clicked on the tv. 

“That was different! You were being wasted at Lannister’s and you know it. You’re a bajillion times better off at Ray’s and don’t even try to tell me you don’t love it. You’re actually being valued for your work, which is good, because you’re amazing.” 

Sandor nearly choked on his swallow of beer as she said it, so casual and sincere, like it was true. _You’re amazing._ Instead he snorted and asked dryly, 

“How much wine have you had?” He had sat on the opposite end of the couch, a respectable couch cushions worth of space between them, but she laughed and reached out with a sock covered foot and poked his side with her toes. When it didn’t elicit a reaction except for a raised eyebrow and set aside his empty bottle, she did it again and pulled back to do it a third time, but Sandor caught her foot in his hand and yanked her forward with a growled admonishment. “Behave.” 

He softened his words by pulling both feet into his lap and squeezing softly, like he had a hundred times before since he’d moved in. This was familiar territory, drinking and unwinding and watching whatever cheesy show she wanted. He’d ridicule it and make her laugh so hard she started snorting. That thought made him smiled and he chanced a glance at her. He nearly flinched to see her staring at him, blue eyes unwavering and steady. 

“You are amazing Sandor.” She must have seen the doubt in his eyes, the uncertainty and disbelief because she leaned forward and caught one of his big hands in hers. “You _are._ I wish you could see yourself the way I do.” 

Her words were fierce, eyes blazing with something that had nothing to do with the half empty bottle of wine next to her. It was reflexive, the way his hand immediately covered his scarred cheek, fingers tracing every familiar ridge and pucker of the ravaged skin. 

“No, your scars are not all you are. They’re a part of you and they’ve helped shape you into the man you have become, but there is so much more to you than that. You are kind and generous and unfailingly honest and any woman would be lucky to have you.” 

During her impassioned speech she had risen to her knees, one hand resting softly on his leg, the other delicately caressing the ruined half of his face. Sandor was shocked to feel tears prick the back of his eyes, but he was even more surprised to see that Sansa was already crying. Tears pooled against her lashed and carefully spilled over, ladylike even as she wept. 

Sandor was less focused on her tears or the emotions clamoring in his chest and more interested in her choice of words. _Any woman would be lucky to have you_. She couldn’t mean- no. It was absurd, impossible even, but why would she say it that way? While the logical, practical half of his brain struggled to understand the possible meaning behind her words, the more instinctive part was already responding. 

“ _Any_ woman?” His tone was low and heavy with insinuation and when her face went wide-eyed and shocked he cursed his impulsiveness, but then her face flushed and her eyes darted away quickly. Her tongue darted out to wet parted lips and Sandor felt exhilarated by the sudden certain realization that _that_ was exactly what she meant. 

All he could hear was his pulse thundering in his eyes, his heart racing unevenly as their eyes met again and he could see the anxiety overwhelming her. Carefully Sandor placed his hands on her bent legs and with exquisite slowness he trailed them upward until they cupped the sweet curve of her hips. Her skin was warm and silky beneath his calloused palms, softer than he expected and the texture was addictive and distracting. Unable to control the urge, he slid them down her thighs before stroking upward again, marveling in the way her skin prickled in response. 

“ _Any_ woman?” He asked again, almost embarrassed by how breathless he sounded, except she looked a little broken and lovely, eyes wild and hot as she nodded, breath ragged as she spoke. 

“Any woman.” 

“Even you?” His voiced cracked, but it didn’t matter because she launched herself at him with a quiet gasp, tangling sure fingers into his hair, lips smashing against his, teeth clacking together as the force of her momentum pushed him backwards. It made him laugh when he felt her lips move against his and her response reached his ears, 

“ _Especially_ me.” 


End file.
